


buried in broken dreams (knee-deep without a plea)

by sobsicles



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, SOBS says jimon rights!!!, a lot of references to a dead falcon, and we always talk about malec being immortal, but definitely a heros tale, just an undercurrent of sadness, methaphor after metaphor after metaphor, slight angst, this is kinda like prose, uplifting and gentle, very minor past clace, very soft, what about jimon???, yes im sad about what happened to clary too, you know why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20260855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobsicles/pseuds/sobsicles
Summary: You were scared for your falcon, for where it would end up after your destruction, and most of all, you feared that you would do it again.You promised you wouldn't, vowed and swore on everything you carried close to your heart, that you'd never ruin something like this again.But then, Simon Lewis.





	buried in broken dreams (knee-deep without a plea)

**Author's Note:**

> I really, really wanted to try my hand at this particular writing style--it's very prose-ish and is from 2nd POV, but I hope you guys take a leap of faith and enjoy it. I definitely wanted to see how well I liked it (a lot, as it turns out), and I think it turned out well. Will I do it again? Probably not, but maybe. The next few stories I have planned definitely aren't written like this. 
> 
> But anyway, lemme know if you enjoyed it! Without further ado: 
> 
> Enjoy! ;)

You were just a boy. Young with the sun a halo on your head, you were just a boy. And you were scared, fraught with it, because that was the first time you'd ever felt it in that direction. 

You had been scared before, of course. Scared when your hands tripped over the keys of the piano, when your father's boots clicked calm and steady across the floor immediately after, when his long fingers wrapped around yours and  _ tugged.  _ Scared when you couldn't raise the sword at the tender age of five, it was far too heavy for your spindly arms, but that fear had all been for naught--he'd merely handed you a dagger and asked you to start there. Scared the first time you managed to disarm him, but that was simple smarts; you were eight and it had been partially an accident, and though he'd praised you, he didn't hold back when the next round started--you went to sleep that night with bruises.

But this was the first time you'd ever be scared for anything other than yourself. 

You didn't expect it. You'd been prepared for praise, for a steady hand on your shoulder and pride in calm blue eyes. The sound of your beloved falcon's neck snapping shocked you. The fear came immediately after, but by then, the life had already left the bird's beady eyes. 

That was the first time you felt fear for something else in your entire life--not that you'd lived so long as it was. But moments came and went, and all the firsts were significant; they stayed with you, as they did most people. 

You'd never feared for your father when he went out, never even thought to. Your father was strong; he'd never land in trouble he couldn't get out of. You had no idea, not so young, that he'd set himself up for that very thing, with you as a key part in it, but that would come much later. 

For now, you looked at your broken bird, and you were just a boy, but you were so scared. Because when your father told you that it was your fault, that you were the reason it was dead, you believed him. You were scared for your falcon, for where it would end up after your destruction, and most of all, you feared that you would do it again. 

You promised you wouldn't, vowed and swore on everything you carried close to your heart, that you'd never ruin something like this again. 

But then, Simon Lewis. 

  
  
  


* * *

Clary was simple to you, at first. 

It was easy for you to love her. There was a light in her eyes that couldn't be put out, not even when you told her the story about how the light left yours and never quite came back. Clary was stunned by the falcon story, but she didn't really understand. In fact, she refused to try--for her, it was about the wrong and the right, about how love overcame all. You looked at her, looked at how she refused to be ruined by anything, and you let yourself love her--because you could, you truly could love her, and she wouldn't let you love her to death. 

You touched her soft hair and you thought about feathers. You drew her into a kiss, breathing her in like sunlight could exist in your lungs, and when she bit your lip, you thought about a beak nipping sharply at skin. You let her cradle your cheeks and look at you like you were more than what you have been through, and you thought about talons on your shoulder, steady and not flying away at the first chance of freedom. Clary, in all her righteous glory and endless determination, loved you so much that she brought your falcon back to life in your mind. You knew, as easy as that, she was it for you. 

But as much as she loved you, as much as she wanted you to be, you were not it for her. 

You thought that you'd be more upset about that, but you really weren't. It was hard--after everything that you two had been through together, nothing would have been easy in any circumstance. When she told you that she loved you, but not as you deserved, not like she wanted to before everything that had happened _ ,  _ you found yourself agreeing with her, though it hurt. 

Clary deserved more, deserved someone who didn't weigh her love against the tantalizing allure of being understood. You two didn't understand each other anymore, or no, that wasn't right. You two understood each other far too much, dipping in a little too deep, so much so that the only way to breathe was to leave entirely. So, you let her go and you breathed a little easier after. 

You thought back on the first time you were ever scared for something else beside yourself, and you realize that you wanted Clary because you were never scared for her. You knew you couldn't destroy her, knew that she'd overcome anything and come out on the other side stronger than ever, and  _ that  _ was why you'd loved her so easily, why you would always love her--differently now, but very potent and special all the same. 

You didn't know, not then, that loving someone  _ was  _ being scared for them. 

You didn't know, but you would. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


It wasn't that you didn't like Simon. You did. 

He was fairly easy to like, with his fumbling words and witty retorts and endless optimism. He had something to say about everything, even what he didn't understand, but you liked that; you liked that he could talk without ever being uncomfortable if you didn't reply. Simon could talk for hours and would if you let him, which was annoying and amusing in equal measure, but most of all, it was a relief. 

The problem with Simon was that he scared you; or rather, he was someone you were scared for. You did not enjoy people who made you feel that, generally. He unwittingly made you think of broken fingers and a broken bird, seeming to have the sole purpose of highlighting your failures. 

So, it wasn't that you didn't like him--you did. It was that he tumbled headfirst into danger without even seeming to mean to, landing himself in situations you had to save him from. The one time you didn't save him, he'd died--and that, more than anything, made you feel like a young boy who was  _ scared.  _

You hadn't felt that in a long time before him. You tended not to surround yourself with people who made you feel like that, yet you couldn't seem to escape him. He was always just…there, even from the beginning. It was easier back then, back when Clary played the bridge between your dislike for each other--she did with a lot of protesting and blatant disdain, but you  _ both  _ let her be that.

Simon, for all his posturing, liked you too. You could tell, even if you did your best to ignore it. The small things--saving you a seat at the bar, calling you for help with accounting homework because he was one of the few people who knew you were good at math, offering you a ride while seamlessly complaining that you should learn to drive. The bigger things--taking a stab to the side that was aimed for you, getting into a screaming match with a random werewolf who still blamed you for touching that sword, going in for a hug like his body hadn't yet realized that it wasn't something you two did. 

There was something about him that you couldn't put your finger on. It plagued you, keeping you up at night, haunting your dreams. You couldn't work out if it was because he died, only to come back at Clary's hands, just as you had. Perhaps. There was something about knowing your life was conditional on how another loved you. A permanent  _ what if  _ on the inside of your lungs, poisoning every inhale and exhale you weren't meant to have--what if she hadn't loved you, what if she hadn't needed him, what if Death was less of a contract with loopholes and more of an hourglass that shattered? 

It wasn't that, even if it had to do with it. 

You wondered if it was something else, if there was some fine print you'd overlooked. You weren't sure if it was the way he still hadn't seemed to realize the inevitability of his situation. Immortality, in retrospect, was not a gift--no matter what the immortal thought--and you were curious if he'd ever realize that. You hoped he wouldn't, that he'd spend centuries with the same wide-eyed awe of the world, innocent and full of hope for each year that passed where he continued to suffer loss. 

It came to you gradually, yet all at once. The pieces were trailed after him, pulling you in as you followed with the need to know. It wasn't the path that you two shared, it wasn't even the soft side of him that made you ache. 

It was how, after all that you'd been taught, after all that you believed so deeply that it gnawed on the marrow of your bones...you realized--with incredulity that came with discovering something tremendously valuable--that you feared for not only him, but yourself as well. 

It was the very first time that you thought of your falcon and considered yourself. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


You knew it when Simon Lewis fell in love with you. 

It was approximately six months after the Angels decided that Clary needed to live a different life for her insubordination. She was gone now, untouched by darkness and demons and death. Her life now consisted of art, laughter, school, and some guy who seemed to have too many teeth in his mouth. 

You watched her sometimes, slipped out when no one was looking too closely, and--for a lack of a better word--stalked her through her new facade. 

Between Magnus, Alec, and Luke, they'd made sure that her life was one without a need in the world. Her schooling was paid for, all her Shadowhunting pay--plus a bonus that went unspoken between everyone--was dumped into an account for her, and Izzy had donated most of her closet to end up at Clary's apartment door with a note from a fake-relative that Clary never thought to question. And why would she? Mundane girls with all their time taken up with college never refused a chance to have clothes while they couldn't go shopping. 

She was happy, unbearably so, and it ate you up inside. Not because she was the love of your life, but because she had been ripped from it. There wasn't a broken bird in the world that could compare to the indention she left behind. 

Simon missed her. You couldn't possibly avoid that. There was a deep scar where she was cut away, not mending with time, and you weren't helping it to heal. He knew that you watched her; he wished you didn't. You knew that as well. 

He didn't want you to watch her because he was in love with you. He didn't realize it, not yet, and you hoped he wouldn't. The gaping chasm you created by keeping one foot in a world that you didn't belong in, just to watch Clary and wish, was enough to keep him on the edge of realization. You could see it, could see how he wanted you present, could hear it in the ways he softly told you to stay away. 

He fell in love with you over the sounds of clacking wood as you trained him; fell with every smile he drew out of you; fell just a bit more when you reached out and touched because you couldn't help yourself--just a brush of fingers over his wrist, just a clap on his shoulder, just some knocking of elbows. The truth was, he fell in love with you long before now, laid dormant in his distractions, and all it took was time and focus to bring it to life. 

You didn't understand it, why he loved you. There was the bickering you two couldn't shake, not to mention the earlier animosity, and it didn't quite add up in your head. But you were good at math, and you knew numbers did not lie--what you were missing were all the variables. 

See, he loved you because of the reasons he shouldn't. The bickering made him feel a deep rooted nostalgia for something you couldn't understand--the sight of his dad biting back smiles when he teased Simon's mother, the laughter that came when they fought over plans for supper, yet his mother could never stay mad when his dad kissed her. Simon chalked up the earlier animosity to circumstance, even without knowing how fond you were for him, believing the bitterness to be nothing more than untoward anger over something that no longer mattered--in the end, neither of you got the girl, so in a way, that was entirely true. Everything that you believed to be the reason he shouldn't love you was the exact reason that he did. 

He liked that you were brisk and haughty, knowing just how kind you truly could be. He enjoyed how you seemed to care for nothing, well aware that you cared far too much for many things. He found peace in your delight of fighting, supportive of your passion to be the hero at the end of the story. 

And, to be fair, you two became friends with time and familiarity. Over the six months that it took for him to fall fully in love, you never noticed just how close you'd both become. Being that you were both dealing with a major loss, it was far too easy to find solace with the only other person who understood. 

So, he fell in love with you, and you were just a young man, and you were  _ scared.  _

  
  
  


* * *

Simon knew he was in love with you when winter crept in, as the leaves shriveled over snow, as it went from nine months without Clary to ten. 

He knew, and you knew he knew. The way it faltered his movements, halting him mid-reach as he casually went to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. You would have let him, wouldn't have batted an eye, wouldn't have even dwelled on the action. Except, his eyes lit up with understanding, followed closely by guilt, ending on unadulterated fear. 

He did not know that you knew. 

You carried on, pretending as if things hadn't shifted. He fell asleep with you on his mind, you woke up with his name on your lips. 

Izzy told you that you needed to get away, and as much as it hurt, she was right. You couldn't continue to live within the institute, hiding in your room between missions, training with Simon, and the moments that you slipped away to watch Clary. She looked around your room as if she could see the memories clinging to the painted walls, eyes clouding as if she'd been transported elsewhere, and it was her kind voice that suggested you find an apartment near a park. 

You did not find an apartment near a park, but you found a small studio apartment with dull beige walls and a white popcorned ceiling. You could have found some place more accommodating in a better area, but it was located right next to a lovely little bakery that was still trying to get out of the red zone--you tasted one donut and signed the lease ten minutes later. It was impulsive and possibly a bit rebellious, but you felt immense satisfaction when you invited Izzy and Alec over for the first time. 

Ironically enough, it was Izzy that seemed to genuinely like the place, while Alec wrinkled his nose and muttered under his breath about Magnus coming over to help with interior design--whatever that meant. 

You had no plans to tell Simon that you moved, too afraid that he'd invade your space and leave lingering images of what could be if you were brave. He found out before month even passed, thanks to a run-in with Izzy, who had a mouth as big as her heart. Instead of being hurt that you never mentioned it, as most people would, Simon brought you a coffee maker and draped all over the couch Magnus helped you pick out like it was his own. 

He was lingering, leaving afterimages of a life where his smiles weren't going to split with agony, and he would continue to do so. 

You were too weak to stop him. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


You knew when you fell in love with Simon Lewis. 

It was exactly a year since Clary was forced into a world that she hadn't wanted to go back to. She was doing great, sharing her art in galleries, branching out as she grew, and she finally ditched that guy with too many teeth for the girl with tattoos down her arms like colorful sleeves--you liked her better. 

You didn't go see her as much, not after Simon admitted that he had a fake facebook just to keep updates on her. It seemed...unfair. She had moved on, unwillingly, yes, but she had--she would want the same for you all. It was harder for you to cling to her, letting it burn you from the inside out, knowing that Simon was doing the same. He deserved better; she deserved better. You attempted to give it to them. 

It was around the time that you frowned upon walking into your apartment and not seeing Simon waiting that you realized you were in love. 

Your first petulant thought upon noting his absence was that he should have been  _ there.  _ You realized, like worlds crashing and burning, that you wanted him there all the time, for however long you could have him. The afterimages had misted into the air, unable to chip away like paint, but rather the oxygen you had no choice but to breathe in. 

You sat on your couch and stared at the pillow he'd cradled to his chest during a horror movie the night before, eyes scanning the stitch pattern, wondering if the imprint of his fingers would ever go away, curious as to whether they were the same shape on your heart. 

It scared you to realize that you could be scared for him, be scared for yourself, and that love was still an enemy impossible to beat. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


Simon knew when you were in love with him. It was a long time coming, you supposed. And as simple as knocking over a lamp, he found out. 

He was faster than you, a fact that he rarely let you live down, but he was also clumsier. He'd let slip that he had a date, and you'd knocked over the lamp with trembling hands, wondering how you could fear losing him and having him in equal measure. He'd crossed the room to catch the lamp, knocking into your side, and you'd flinched back as if he'd slapped you. He froze as the lamp hit the carpet. 

Simon was many things, but he'd never been an idiot. And though he'd required glasses as a mundane, there were certain things that even the blind could see. As a vampire with perfect eyesight, he couldn't possibly miss the expression on your face. You tried to hide it, but you were helpless to the raging emotion in your eyes. 

In that moment, you wished for easier times. Back when you worried about loving sisters, back when fathers failed you, back when you watched your falcon's neck snap with a sickening crack. All of that, all of it, was easier than this, as easy as breathing when compared to the realization on his face. 

Simon cancelled his date, but he didn't explain why. In fact, he didn't even mention what he knew. Perhaps he didn't think you knew, but you did. And now, so did he. 

He watched you closely after that, not that he hadn't already been doing that. People are more attuned to those they crave, after all. But he watched for something else, catching every moment and examining it in a different light--wondering and wondering and wondering. 

You confirmed nothing. 

  
  
  


* * *

It was as inevitable as loving him was. 

You have loved him for a long time, since the moment you realized you were scared. It was a part of you, it was etched in your soul deeper than the runes on your skin. You'd believed many things; it was impossible to believe that you could be scared for something and not love it. 

What came with that was you'd love it, you'd fear for it, and you'd destroy it. 

But you had to have something to lose it--you didn't have him, and you weren't going to take him. He, ever the viable pulse of life, took you instead. In the middle of a conversation no less, just smiled at you softly as you ranted about why orcas deserved the ocean--to be fair, you'd both just finished a harrowing documentary--and bobbed his head in agreement. You were rambling, a rare occurrence bred from being passionate about the subject, and you somehow missed the utter reverent adoration that beamed from his face. 

Right in the midst of a word, right when you'd let your guard down, as if he was waiting for that exact moment, he leaned forward and kissed you. 

It should have been, by all means, awkward and fumbling, considering that you'd been in the middle of a tangent and hadn't seen it coming. But the moment his lips landed on yours, it was over. You forgot about orcas, forgot about the ocean, forgot about each and every fear you cradled close to your chest, and you cradled his cheeks instead. 

For all your preparations, for all that you did to avoid this, you gave in embarrassingly quick. It wasn't your fault; you'd always known that if you reached this point, you'd never be able to come back from it. 

He curled in close, breathing you in like his lungs needed you to work, even though he didn't need to breathe at all. You clung, and clung, and clung; it wasn't possible to get closer, yet you wished to crack him open and crawl inside, shelter yourself from what would undoubtedly come next. You let yourself get lost in it, in  _ him,  _ and it had been a very long time since you could touch anything without fearing it would break beneath your fingers. 

Simon did not break, he bloomed. 

  
  
  


* * *

You did not know that ruining someone could come from hands that were not your own. It never crossed your mind that you could ruin someone without lifting a finger. You never thought that you could ruin someone by simply dying. 

You should have known, you really should have. 

You loved fiercely, you always had. First with your falcon, then with your family, then with Clary, and now with Simon. You couldn't help it; you knew if you ever settled into that love, you would be unable to do anything outside of giving it your all. 

And you did. 

You expected to love Simon straight to death, but it never occurred to you that you could love him straight to your own. 

The seelie that threw the knife made the mistake of aiming for Simon, and it was without a thought that you dived in its path. You could tell by the shouts that came before the knife even touched you that everyone knew you well enough to realize what would happen. You'd been with Simon all of three weeks, but everyone had known what was going on long before that. Maybe that was why Alec hit his knees before you even registered the pain. 

It was a major cut, fast acting, and you would die in the next few minutes. It baffled you at first, to think that this was another of life's cruel jokes. Just when you thought you had it figured out, just when you imagined that you knew what could come your way. 

Through bleary eyes, you saw Simon's face hover over your own. From far off, there was the solid thump of Alec's body as he fainted. You blinked slowly, apologized for leaving so soon, admitting selfishly that you wished you could stay. Simon's heartbreakingly sad gaze swam before your own, filled with tears; you reached up to touch his cheek, you smiled, and with what sounded like the snap of a falcon's neck, you died. 

  
  
  


* * *

You're first and only thought upon unearthing from your own grave was focused on the blood. Savagely, with burning veins, you tore into the bags and hoped to quench the fire licking within your body. 

It took you some time to realize what had happened. When you came to the terrifying conclusion, you stared down at your rune-less arms and wondered why. Simon didn't say a word, just crouched down before you with a white rag to clean your face, sullying the stark cloth with the smeared blood around your mouth. You stared at him. 

It was Alec who made the call, with rallying support from the others, because of course it was. Just before the last beat of his heart, Simon managed to get his blood down your throat, and that was all she wrote. 

And so, you defied death once again. You were beginning to think that even Death didn't want you around to ruin things. 

Simon was most certainly ruined. He was guilty, unable to look you in the eyes for very long, unable able to say much beside the choking apologies he couldn't seem to swallow. He did not touch you, he did not kiss you, he did not stay. 

And this--specifically this--was what you feared. To love and to lose, it seemed that was all you knew how to do, and you wondered why you even dared to hope. 

You screamed, you cried, you tossed things. Simon let you, took it like he was meant for it, and you wanted to fold yourself into nothing. It wasn't until you asked him to stay, begged him to try, that he looked up at you and broke your now-and-forever unbeating heart. It turned out that he thought you would hate him for this, that he was scared too. 

For as many firsts that you've had, this was the one that you'd hold dear for as long as you'd live. 

For once, after everything, after falcons and Clary and dying, you didn't have anything to fear. Simon reached out to you, pushed hair behind your ear, and you'd have forever to learn that love wasn't strong enough to destroy you. 

You were just a man. Aged far beyond your body, you were just a man. And you were loved, filled to the brim with it, because that was the first time you realized you would survive it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and please leave a comment; I do so love them. 
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS


End file.
